Heroes Don't Shatter
by Phantomrose96
Summary: Heroes are infallible. Unbreakable. Incorruptible. But sometimes, they're only human. The ghosts have fallen to a disease that makes them mindless, violent, and bloodthirsty. With lives on the line, infected or not, Danny can't afford to break.
1. Prologue

If anyone recognizes the title, yes this story will be based on my oneshot "Heroes Don't Shatter". HOWEVER! This will be radically different, and only the general concept is the same. Similar plot, different story, and this one will be written like an actual story format-wise. Enjoy!

**Heroes Don't Shatter**

**Prologue**

_It's January 17th. It's three weeks today. Three weeks later-today._

_Or maybe it's the 18th by now. Maybe it's late enough. Could be. That makes it three weeks and one day today._

_God it must have been longer._

_..._

Everywhere is black. Everything is so much worse than black. It is the all-consuming kind, the kind that wraps around my whole body and presses me, drowns me in coldness, in darkness, in my own mind. It is the kind that has followed me through the expanse of the night, that shrouds everything else in cold numbness.

I should be used to it. I want to be, but I just can't.

Until I shut my eyes and hang in the choking blackness, knowing this is better, far better, than what I came out here to do. No, I want this to stay, even if I suffocate, I just don't want to see that damning glow I've seen night after night. It shoos away the darkness—it always does—and probably damns my soul a little more each time.

It's always different, a different source for each one, paler or richer or brighter or duller. I can see it in my mind. My eyes are closed but I can see it. It flickers, an almost pure white, its glow fading then growing to a steady beat.

Almost like a heartbeat.

My blood runs cold.

The flicker won't die from my mind. It's still there. I see it. And I still see it once I open my eyes again.

It is unmistakable, the pinprick of light, the darting, fluorescent spot that swells with an unhealthy glow. For a time it is just a mist of ecto-green. I can't discern it any better. I can't afford to see it as anything more. Yet still, I can't stop myself, because suddenly it's a life, its fading fluorescent smile and sparking eyes and fleshed out body. It's someone. It's anyone. Everyone.

All of them.

It sees me now, and just dives and twirls and lets out a giggle made of hundred different voices.

_It's alive._

"Ghost!" My voice is cold, and it sends a shiver down my own spine. I don't want to. I know I don't.

"Yes?" It flits from side to side, its form different each time I blink. It's here. It's there. Behind me. In front. Everywhere.

"You're aware of the declaration made for Amity Park, right? I can't allow you to be here."

It eyes me with a childlike curiosity, its mouth falling open a touch in contemplation. After a moment of silent thought, its jaw shuts, mouth stretching into a distant smile. It looks past me, then up to the sky and rolls onto its back midair, floating with its legs crossed, arms resting beneath its head. The ghost won't answer.

"All ghosts have been made aware." I hate this part. I hate saying this. "If you have not, then I'm sorry, but there is no mercy I may show you." The words are hard and cruel; they rip into my conscience, but I have no choice. "Are there any last words you'd like to say?"

"You're silly…" The sound echo across the sky, carrying a light of its own in the complete darkness. So many voices. Thousands. All speaking in unison. "Aren't you the hero? You don't kill; you're far too good for that."

It twirls in midair, unlocking its legs while righting its position. A semi-transparent finger points to me, hanging suspended as if I'd missed its meaning, as if I didn't know the ghost meant me. It drops the hand, swooping to my level, a thousand eyes melded into two glowing pinpoints that fix me with a stare I can't return. "We're not infected, so why do you threaten us with death? Ask yourself that, Mister."

"I'm sorry." My voice is weak, but still cold, still so cold. "I can't ask myself that. I'll never like that answer I get."

The energy pools in my hands, arcing then collapsing in my palms as the power grows; the ectoplasm sparks, condensing to microscopic blades caught up in a whirlwind of swirling power. I can feel the drain on my body, as I ready myself to do what I know I must.

I don't want to look, but I have to; I can't wrench my gaze away. Not when I know what will happen, not when I can see it in my head.

The spirit's playful grin flickers and falls, its eyes growing in a confused, bordering on curious expression, its mouth falling open the slightest bit.

"Wait…" it ventures, a panicked spark materializing in its mesh of a thousand different eyes, fear swamping the thousands of souls, "please don't."

"I'm sorry…" I can't hear myself over the crackling bursts of power screeching in my palms.

"Don't please!" Its eyes…_so damn human. "_Please don't do it! Please no!" Its body shakes, shuddering in the cold breeze, before lunging away in a desperate plea for freedom. It can't escape, though. It won't. Not before I thrust my arm out, the free fingers curling around its windpipe, freezing its cry with a collar of ice, bound tightly to its neck.

The collar is phased through its throat, fused to its ectoplasmic skin, and the ghost's two panicked arms fly up to the choking restraint.

Just heavy enough to pull it down. Just sudden enough to stun it for the few moments I need.

Just long enough to strike.

The power is gone from my hand in one, damning _boom. _Its crackling energy dissipates in a flash of blinding light, fending off the darkness for just a few moments before it's all over, drowning out the shuddering scream I still heard in my mind. I shut my eyes to the light, or maybe that's just what I tell myself. No, I'm not shutting out the light. I'm shutting out everything.

I can't look. I can't bring myself to understand what I just did.

I swallow hard, my eyelids twitching, and without my consent I dare to crack an eye open. Stars dance in my vision, until they fizzle to nothingness, leaving my eyes to focus on the fading remnants of light coiling in on themselves. They start to dull, slowly losing the glistening shimmer in the pool of decomposed ectoplasm at my feet. They're fading away, breaking down, giving in, surrendering to the black nothing again. But in those few seconds, as the dwindling light fights for its life, I'm trapped, staring deep into the splattered mess. I can't see a single one of the thousand eyes once shining there. Instead their vibrant glowing eyes had been replaced with a foreign pair. The shine is gone in the new pair, the meshed eyes decomposed, switched for two rippling reflections. I stare at the new eyes, and they stare back: cold, green, dead eyes.

My eyes.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper, but I know it's well beyond hearing at this point. "This wasn't my choice to make."

_That's a lie._ The rippling reflection silently screams it.

I can only stare back, but the two softly glowing eyes won't yield.

"…I guess that's right." I whisper back. I'm not sure what I'm talking to. Maybe the ghost. Maybe the eyes. Maybe myself. "It was my choice to kill you." The eyes. The ghost. "…but it's not something I can change. I didn't ask for this. I didn't start this."

The reflection stares back silently, refusing to argue. It simply doesn't answer, fading with the light, eaten up in the darkness.

"It's true…" I say, but the reflection's gone. The light's gone. _It's them or us. I can't let a single one roam free. Not now. Not with the way things are._

I shut my eyes and turn away, mumbling one last "I'm sorry" before the glow is permanently gone,

And I'm thrown back into the darkness again.


	2. The Mind

The nearest computer monitor toppled to the floor. The heavy equipment spun until it snagged on the power cord, if only for a moment, and ripped itself from the wall, shattering on the ground with a satisfying crash. The closest being blinked, his eyes dull, milky, and lacking in the spark of life that consumed the older man's vision. The eyes wandered to the broken monitor for one quiet, disinterested moment, before fixing on the far wall, unfocused and blank. The older man glanced again to the boy, letting a frustrated snarl break past his lips before turning back to the monitor. He kicked it forcefully, trying what he could to placate his rage.

_Doesn't matter. I'll just buy a new one._

He turned back to the boy sitting motionless on the stainless steel lab table. The boy was, in every way, prefect. His hair, a shock of stark white spikes, jutted off his head at seemingly random angles. His dull eyes buzzed an electric green. His suit was spotless. His complexion just as it ought to be. But the duplicate was missing all of what made the original worth duplicating. A mind.

Vlad stalked to the boy's side, pressing both hands on the stainless steel surface. The eyes just stared back. Not afraid. Not curious. They just stared. Vlad raised a finger and trailed it through the air. The boy's eyes followed, but their path was almost mechanically driven. They possessed all the free will and emotion of a robot. Vlad dropped his hand to his side, his anger swamped by a crushing sense of defeat, and he turned his back to his mindless creation.

"Another failure…" he muttered as he pushed himself away from the table.

"Clone stability at 98% and dropping, my sweet pea." The holographic woman's voice was soft, but her words echoed with a metallic emptiness. Her form shifted in and out of focus, flitting from one side of her master to the other. Vlad made a mental note to clean up the program before his holographic partner failed completely. He didn't need another failure on his hands.

"Stability at 97.9% and dropping, lamb chops."

"Yes yes I know!" He rounded on the speaker, watching her holographic mouth shut and pucker into an indignant pout. "We've been through this before, Dear," he whispered far more softly. "How long will it last this time?"

"Ghost boy form will be stable for 21.6 days, my beloved. Imminent disintegration in 31.9."

"That's hardly an improvement from last time." Vlad's eyes appraised the still ghost boy for another few fleeting seconds, taking in the perfect duplicate of his arch rival. Everything should have been perfect. He had the biology down to a tee. Everything from the hair color to the blood type was flawless, so why not the mind? In all the research he'd done to clone the form, he had found so little information that pertained to the mind. Surely the _form_ was what mattered, he'd thought. A perfect physical copy would include the mind when all was said and done. At least that was how his thinking had gone.

Every test seemed to back up that his technique was sound. Rats, both ghost and living, had come up with perfect duplicates, exact copies, of the originals. The clones were moving, breathing (in the case of the live ones), and seemingly perfect. Only now Vlad saw where his method failed him, where the error had slipped through. The rats weren't complex; they lived on instinct, on primal techniques to survive. His living rat clones were flawless, body and mind, but now he saw the slight tick in his ghost clones. There was something, some very slight thing, that had been off in the ghost rat clones. They were less alert—no, that's not quite it. They weren't less alert, they were less _alive. _They ran with no emotion or memory, neither of which he could see at the time. In hindsight he saw it. In hindsight he realized the connection. Even so, he still couldn't understand why. Something in his living rats, their physical flesh or concrete form or otherwise, kept them whole. The ghost rats were soulless, a characteristic he noticed only in the absolute lowest lifeforms he came across in the ghost zone, and nothing like young Daniel.

Now he was facing his fourth failure. One he would slowly watch lose its form, break down into a hideous amorphous blob, and disintegrate all together. So why? Surely it was the mind, he thought. The mind must stitch the whole being together. He just needed to know why the mind wouldn't transfer into his half-human clone. Half human. Half ghost. And still mindless.

Vlad turned back to the clone. In the dim lab light, the boy's edges looked almost hazy. Perhaps, Vlad thought, that was just his mind playing tricks. It was his mind telling him the boy would fall apart in just like all the others. Vlad came closer, passing the boy and typing furiously into the massive database he'd collected on cloning.

"Stabilitity, Maddie?"

"97.8% and dropping."

"_Damn it," _he breathed, bringing one fist down on the keyboard. He glanced at the massive buildup of documents on the screen and the search bar now filled partway with, "Make up of the ghost's nkjubv". He shut his eyes, clearing the computer screen of everything he had open. _Think. _Something nonphysical must make up the ghost's mind. Ghosts were so amorphous that any kind of thought processor or memory couldn't be stored in a physical form. Maybe it was composed of energy, or maybe it was in the ectoplasmic charge. No good, he needed a way to be certain.

"Maddie," he turned on the hologram flanking him, his eyes suddenly lit with an idea, his voice cautiously optimistic, "search the database for 'origins of the ghost mind'."

"Searching…" the hologram bit her lip. "No results found."

"Search 'origins of the ghost'." The hopefulness hadn't left his voice. He had an idea. He knew one place that might give him the answers he needed. The path to get it wouldn't be easy.

"Searching…One result found."

"Read it."

"Origins of the Ghost. Master Record of Ghostly Origin and History. Currently in the possession of The Observers. Content: inaccessible."

Vlad's mouth split into a smile that can only be described as evil. "Perfect. What say you Maddie, shall we pay our friend Clockwork a visit?"

"If that is what you wish, Honey Pie."

"Well there's not much stopping us." His grin split wider, revealing vampire-like incisors as two glowing rings swept past his body. A thick white cape blew out behind him and he fingered the glossy material for a moment, relishing in the robbery he was about to commit, before taking off into the ghost zone through the open portal he'd built.

The clone glanced after his adoptive father with absolute disinterest. He sat rigid, empty, until, merely out of reflex, he looked to the hologram, the last source of noise in the room.

"Stability at 97.6%"

…

Clockwork's hand trembled on his staff, rage overpowering the old, wispy tendons in his arm as he tried to gain control of his hand. A break in. How foolish were his Observers? Their thick heads were good for looking, not acting, so what use was there in having them guard the castle?

"We're happy to report minimum damage," the nearest one offered, either completely missing his blunder or unaware of its severity.

"That's not the point," Clockwork breathed, his form shifting into a young boy as he calmed himself. Now was the time for rational thought, no rash actions. "What was _taken?"_

"Only the archive room was breached, sir." The same observer spoke, although he was flanked by dozens of identical copies. "It wouldn't appear anything that could disrupt the flow of time was taken."

"I'm aware. What did the thief take?"

"Our almanac, Sir."

Clockwork paused for a beat. "That's impossible. It's under the highest security."

"The thief forced his way in. We're sorry."

"But the whole almanac is virtually unmovable. It's composed of nearly a thousand. I wrote every word."

"We apologize Sir, he did not take the entirety of the almanac." The Observer's eye stared back blankly, pausing to see if he should continue. "It seems the thief merely escaped with a single volume."

"Which one?"

"Volume Two, the Origin of Ghosts."

Clockwork turned away, shutting his eyes. In his head he pictured the entirety of the volume: every word, every sentence, every key fact and paragraph.

"Is this…a major problem, Sir? Other than retrieving the stolen property?"

"I don't know," Clockwork quietly admitted, hardly used to the words leaving his mouth. "I can't know how he intends to use it."

Clockwork focused harder, organizing every piece of the volume in order.

Origin of ectoplasmic energy.

Derivation of power.

Origin of ectoplasmic entities.

Consumption and distribution of ectoplasm in the system.

Formation of amorphous entities.

The list rattled on in his mind. He mentally flipped page after page.

Formation of morphous entities.

Subsection A: stability of structure.

Subsection B: composition of structure.

Subsection C: Evolution of structure.

Hundreds of thousands of pages flew through his mind, all of it useless in the hands of someone dangerous. His mind reached the final sections.

Formation of the sentient mind

Subsection A: Structure of the memory

Subsection B: Structure of the thought and action

Subsection C: Evolution of sentient mind

Subsection D: Devolution of the sentient mind

"Is the material dangerous? Does this robbery pose a threat to the inhabitants of the ghost zone?"

Clockwork drowned out the Observer for a few moments, double checking everything in his mind. Everything contained in the volume was simply heavy reading material. Advanced explanations on the origin of ghost-kind. Descriptions on the incremental evolution of them. Clockwork had researched it all, past and present. Most everything, it seemed, came up harmless. Still, something in the very last section troubled him. He couldn't shake the thought that some of the knowledge might be dangerous in the wrong hands. He took a deep breath and tried peering into the future, but he was met with no more than he expected: a blank, clouded image. He knew it would happen; someone breached the realm outside of time. Not only that, they took an object belonging outside of time and introduced it into the already flowing timeline. It's like tossing a pebble into a clear, flowing river. Ripples that radiate from the foreign pebble obscure the river. It still flows as strongly as it did before, and its current is most certainly not hindered by it, but the rocks and sand it passes are obscured in the disturbance. The rippling could last hours or years during this leg of the timeline. He had no way of knowing.

"We can only hope not," he answered. Clockwork turned to the Observers flanking him on every side. "Get a search party together. Be discrete. Stay in the shadows. And find the book as soon as possible."

The Observers stiffened, acknowledging the command, and one by one started to fade away. Clockwork watched them disappear one at a time, turning to his window into the real world. His appearance shifted again, his baby fat trimming to a lean young man, the furrow in his brow deepening with the additional years of wrinkles. He could only hope the thief was harmless, or at least smart enough not to play with fire.

….

"Like taking candy from a baby!" Vlad reveled as he phased into the real world through his portal. Proudly clamped in his right hand he held the volume of Clockwork's almanac. The man's face glowed with an unnatural light. It flickered in his eyes as the possibilities raced through his mind.

"Fabulous, Sweet Pea." The holographic unit fluttered her eyes, clasping both hands together. "But then again, you _are _the one and only Vlad Plasmius, hmm?"

Vlad's lips twitched into a smile, one vampire incisor sharing in the unhealthy glow. "Well yes. Yes I am."

The two dark rings wrapped around his body again, replacing the immaculate white suit with an equally spotless black one. His jagged black haired settled into a prim, white pony tail, but the smile on his face didn't waver. He pulled out the desk chair, setting the book down on the table as he flipped past the first few pages. His creation stared at him from the far end of the room, dull eyes still lifeless, as it took in its master's jovial state. But no, the boy was the farthest thing from Vald's mind. He'd moved on, immersed in the volume that was certain to contain the answers he needed. He flew past entire chapter, charts and diagrams and case studies whirling past his vision, until he settled on the page he needed. Carefully scripted words met his gaze at the chapter's head, and he dove ravenously into the book's contents.

_Formation of the Sentient Mind_

The listless clone watched on for days, his outline becoming steadily more blurred, his eyes ever lifeless, but the same could not be said for Vlad. The man's eyes grew more tired each day, more enraged, as he scribbled, crumbled, and rescribbled mathematical formulas that, for all he tried, just didn't work. The book was vague, and written at a level far above Vlad's comprehension. It stung his pride, and his patience, that he was wasting away days of his life he'd never get back on efforts that came up empty.

"Damn it all…" he muttered, flipping through earmarked pages that hardly fit together. He couldn't grasp the concept. The existence of a mind without any physical manifestation was easy enough to grasp in theory, but creating one was an entirely different story. The ghostly mind. An epimorphigan. Above the physical composition. None of it made sense.

Vlad crumpled up the page in front of him, adding it to the pile of ripped out, torn, and balled up papers amassed on the floor. Two glowing green eyes followed the motion, lingered on the paper for a moment, and shot back up to the increasingly sleep deprived man. The clone hadn't slept either, and dark, bruising bags were slowly materializing under its eyes. The clone showed no indication that it knew, or cared for that matter. Even the simplest drives were missing from its mind. Just a blank, empty failure.

The silence of the room broke with a high pitched shriek of chair grinding against floor. Vlad shoved himself back from the desk, paced from one end of it to the other examining the few pieces of paper he hadn't discarded, and still came up empty. Finally he settled in front of the almanac again, and, searching for some outlet to his pent up frustration, he grabbed the corner of the book and flipped a hundred or so pages ahead, hoping he might get the answer glaring back at him. If not, he told himself, the book was going in the fireplace.

The almanac settled on a page nearly at the end. Only a few, thin sheets separated the back cover from the current page. Almost surprisingly, it settled on another ornately scripted page.

_Devolution of the Sentient Mind_

Vlad considered the fire for a moment, until a better thought struck him. Maybe he could treat this like a simple mechanical engineering project. If you don't know how it works, take it apart and learn.

"Well I've always been best with example," he mused to the purring kitten wrapped tightly around his leg. The cat nuzzled his hand in response.

With his free hand Vlad flipped past the first page. The section wasn't more than ten pages long, and as he quickly realized, it was more of a history lesson than a science journal. The chapter contained semi-detailed accounts and a clear, straightforward path for him. A grin split his face, and he rubbed his knuckles into the cat's silken fur.

"Another field trip so soon?" His voice was singsong, appealing to the young cat who nuzzled back in response. "My my, it's quite an adventurous week for your Daddy, isn't it?"

The hologram stared back from the corner of the room, her eyes set in clear dislike of her competition. Damn cat. It even stole her name. She drowned out the man and his pet and let herself fantasize how things might have been different with the Jack program. Maybe it wasn't too late to switch.

"I'll tell Frostbite and his pals you say hi, Maddie," Vlad cooed. The hologram made to protest that she had said no such thing, but realized again her master was speaking to the cat. Damn cat.

With that the man was gone. The hologram's quiet was short-lived, as he was back within the hour, three vials of _something _clasped firmly in his hand. They glowed an ominous green and ice crystals webbed across their surface. Vlad made no explanation, to one Maddie or the other, and quickly busied himself in the preparation of one of the tubes. He set the other two high up on his shelf, hidden among various bottles and test tubes. Most importantly, they were hidden from sight.

Test subjects were next. He didn't need anything too powerful or too complex, he decided. Just with a solid form and a solid mind. Vlad toyed with the vial in his hand. He would be taking constant readings of brain activity throughout the trial, from start to finish. And if this vial, this _virus _as the volume described it, could really do as it promised. If it could really eat away the mind from the inside out, he could perfectly track the path the mind took, backwards. It would just be a matter of looking at every reading start to finish to see where he had gone wrong. What was missing. What was different. It was _perfect._

A nagging thought hit him: the possibility that he was playing with fire here. As the book put it, the virus was fast growing, fast replicating, and only the last remnants of it had been frozen dormant deep in Frostbite's territory. Personally Vlad found the concept idiotic, that they would even preserve the virus if it had no use to them. If it could very well kill them. But who was he to argue if they handed him the equipment he needed? He'd be careful. Vlad wasn't an idiot.

He dismissed the thought from his mind, focusing again on the task at hand. Right. Test subjects. Those couldn't take too long to gather. Vlad pulled a Fenton thermos from the cabinet, freshly stolen that week, and promised the small cat he'd be back before long. Hologram Maddie rolled her eyes. Cat Maddie blinked in confusion. Vlad simply disappeared into the portal. The cat stared back for a few silent moments, mewing into the portal before it shut in her face. She blinked again, before strutting to the lab door, her tail swishing behind her. She pawed at the steel door, but no one made to let her in. She mewed again, but to no avail. She was still trapped.

…

Hours passed, and eventually hologram Maddie shut off the lights still flickering in the lab. She shut off herself for that matter, still thinking of the choices she made in life and where she might have gone wrong. Cat Maddie was left curled up by the door, now shrouded in darkness, at least until a flickering glow caught her eyes. She raised her furry head, eyes following the dancing light. It was wrapped around the corner of the ceiling, growing and shrinking as though coming from a flame. The cat cocked her head, getting gracefully to her feet as she went to investigate.

The source was hidden high up on the shelf. She leapt onto the first level, slinking around glass equipment and measuring devices until she reached the end and jumped onto the desk. She was getting closer, and her tail swished in anticipation. She had it now. After a few more graceful bounds, to the desk lamp, the corkboard, and the top shelf, she found herself level with the glowing vials. Maddie bobbed her head, swished her tail, and stuck her haunches into the air, ready to pounce. With one powerful motion she launched herself at the vials—

-and went toppling off the back of the shelf along with them. The glass tubes hit the floor with an echoing crash, the distinct sound of cracking glass accompanying the noise. Maddie landed with only the slightest of sounds, but it was easily drowned out by the steady hiss of air leaking from one vial. The frozen gas inside expanded rapidly into the warm air, the contents immediately sublimating then clinging to any nearby surface. Maddie hissed in response to the noise, her back bristling as she tried to make herself as big a presence as possible. The gas in the air condensed and froze on her fur, matting up her coat with shards of ice embedded down to the skin. She hissed louder, pawing and biting at the creeping ice. The cat shot out from behind the shelf, vaguely catching the attention of the clone on its table. She knocked into walls, scattered papers, and in her blind sprint hit the "kitty level" door opener newly installed in the lab. The steel moved aside with an ancient groan and she sprinted madly through the new opening, still terrified, still panicked. The cat flap on the front door yielded instantly to her and she made a mad dash for the front lawn.

A curious set of eyes looked on as the cat rolled and rubbed through the grass. Even I the darkness of night, the eyes still caught the faint, green haze evaporating from the cat's back, the cloud rolling off her fur steadily disappearing into the air around it.

(A/N: I know Maddie the cat didn't appear in the series until Maddie the Hologram was already gone, but I figure it took Vlad some time to let the cameras see cat-Maddie without being embarrassed about it. The time frame of the show is so close together that really it's anyone's guess )


	3. The First Kill

_Chapter two. The plot starts to develop from here, so I hope you enjoy it. Reviewers are loved!_

Vlad's eyes shined with delight as he scribbled furious notes on the clipboard in hand. His victim pulled and struggled against its restraints, desperate eyes darting around the room for any means of escape. It was going on its third hour of pleas for its freedom, switching between rational arguments of payment for its freedom and punishment for its imprisonment. Vlad ignored the creature's desperate pleas, working mechanically to lock the ghost down in its phase proof restraints. Once secure he'd sealed it inside a Plexiglas box, completely and utterly airtight, and with a carefully purified sample from vial number one, he administered the virus. The ghost merely blinked through the slight green haze, switching then to a desperate kind of begging to earn its freedom. It promised riches, fame, and power. None of which, Vlad figured, would actually come to fruition.

"I have connections you know! In the ghost zone!" It pulled one arm against the leather restraint, the pitch in its voice climbing steadily higher. "I'm serious! I could make you rich! Famous even!"

"Mm-hmm…" Vlad mused, carefully adjusting a few dials on the machines hooked up to his victim. Various charts and graphs flitted across the master screen, and he closed them all after a quick scan.

"Please, sir…" A few, desperate tears leaked from its eyes. "I'm telling you there are people expecting me back home. I can do anything. I'll tell everyone you saved me! You'd be a hero! Imagine everything you coul—"

Vlad cut the ghost off with a finger, a mad chuckle building in his throat. "Oh what a funny way to put it. Sorry though, as I can assure you I'm _not _the hero." He chuckled a bit more. "I can think of one person who might listen. He's _big _on the whole hero thing."

"R-really?" The ghost blinked tears from its eyes, the slightest of hopeful smiles breaking on its lips.

"Yes." Vlad grabbed the container and spun the ghost 90 degrees. "He's right over there. Say hi!"

The clone looked on for a silent moment, its eye lids drooping, face dead.

The ghost swallowed. "H-he's not…I mean he doesn't look very-"

"Alive? Oh I know that _is _the problem." Vlad bent down, facing the ghost at eye level. "He's missing a mind, you know? But we'll fix that right up. That's what you're here for."

"How'm I supposed to fix him?" The ghost's voice was weak, smaller than it had been moments ago.

"Simple, I'm using you as a test subject. I'm going to destroy your mind and see what happens." The creature's eyes went wide and it struggled more forcefully against the restraints.

"How?" it squeaked.

"With this." Vlad brought the hypodermic needle into view, moments ago filled with the virus he'd emptied into the ghost's container. "A useful little virus I found wasting away in the ice vaults of Frostbite's lair." Vlad made a tsking noise with his tongue, like the mere thought was such a waste.

"Oh no…" Its wide eyes grew wider, its thrashing against the restraints more forceful. It choked a little in the container, like it was trying to get rid of the poisoned air that enveloped it. "No no no no."

Vlad puckered his lips, quickly losing interest. No signs of deterioration yet. It clearly understood its situation, and the fear it expressed in response was sharp and focused.

"_Necroviridae_," it whispered.

"What?" Vlad's eyes drilled into his subject. He thought he was the only one privy to this information outside Clockwork. The passage from Clockwork's almanac scrolled through his mind. "_Acute deterioration of the sentient mind following exposure to this particular strain of virus dubbed necroviridae."_

"How do you know its name?" Vlad pressed. This was his secret, even his weapon potentially. What right did this thing have to know about it?

"I've been around a long time. You've got to listen to me, this is…This is _not _something to mess with. It's happened before! Please you can't let it get out! You don't know what it was like back then." The thing paused to swallow, the madness growing in its eyes. "It was a _long _time ago but I mean, i-it's not something you can ever forget. Your friends. Your _family! _Just one after the other. Dropping like flies! They get infected and it just _kills _them. _Worse_ than kills them! It kills their _mind_ but they—they come back violent. And deadly. And mindless. They came after me. Knew these people all my afterlife and then one day, BAM! They're…they're…" The creatures eyes teared up again, and it yanked and pulled at the leather bindings with all its might. "I _survived damnit! I survived. _I can't…not now…I can't do this now."

Vlad watched its struggling for a silent thoughtful moment.

"Pity."

He turned his back on the ghost, messing again with the calibration of his equipment. So this virus, this necroviridae, it really was a weapon. By the sound of it, he could use it to wipe out entire armies of ghosts if they so opposed him. The ghost whimpered from behind him, but Vlad didn't hear, lost in his mind. He smiled at the thought.

Quietly, undetectable to any being in the room, a small droplet of liquid solution dripped from the bottom rack of the shelf. It rippled in the coagulating pool beneath it, still glowing with its faint green shine. A second drop fell into the puddle, and its descent was met with a faint hiss as a tiny fraction of the solution evaporated into the air.

…

Vlad sank back into his chair, quietly turning the pages of the book resting in his hands. The ghost's whimpering subsided hours ago, the creature itself having drifted off into sleep. Vlad impatiently checked his watch, having promised himself he'd give the virus time to work before checking on the results. Five hours now since he administered the virus. The syringe itself had been so concentrated he figured it couldn't take long to work. Impatient, Vlad pushed himself from his chair, cracking his knuckles high above his head before making his way to the ghost's side.

"Wakey wakey," he chimed, rapping his fingers on the glass. "Nap time's over."

Two blazing green eyes snapped open, focusing immediately on its waker. They burned and flickered with feral rage, darting across the man's face, taking in everything they could about the man's countenance. A low, feral growl grew in its throat, gaining in volume and speed until it became an outright shriek. A smile curled on Vlad's lips.

"Wrong side of the bed I take it?" The ghost growled in response. "Tell me, what's your name."

In one quick motion the ghost lashed against its container, teeth gnashing, claws scraping against the interior. The restraints pulled taught against its skin, rubbing welts into the ghost's wrists while it clawed and foamed and shrieked.

"Oh ho fabulous!" Vlad took a step back, his face positively glowing. "Absolutely marvelous! At this rate you'll be mindless as the clones before the day's over." He clapped his hands together. "I should make tea."

Out of the corner of his eye, Vlad caught the slightest blur touch the ghost's outline. It wove in and out of existence, like the form was fighting to stay stable. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder to the lifeless clone. Its edges had steadily started to blur, not quite putting up the same fight his test subject was. The creature thrashed again at the box, blood-like ectoplasm dripping from the wounds in its artificially solid wrists. Vlad's smile merely grew as he pushed away from the test subject's box. He switched on the master computer screen, rifling through dozens of charts and readings pouring in from his machinery. Archived files flitted across the screen, past readings and measurements taken prior to the experiment. He sorted through them fervently, driven by the easy success of his experiment. Think of the anti-ghost technology he could manufacture with this. The entire ghost population would be groveling at his feet!

But first the clone. That was his first priority. He needed his perfect half ghost son to rule the ghost world with. The thought sent giddy shivers down his spine.

His holographic partner watched him from the corner of the lab. Her face puckered into a worried glare as she watched her master lose himself in the frantic moment. Nothing about this sat well with her. Something just felt wrong. Something in the air. She couldn't place the feeling, and with one last dejected sigh, she shut herself off.

…

A few miles away the same curious set of eyes flitted up and down the empty street. Their owner, the ghost, stopped his woozy drifting, settling against the side of a house to reorient himself. He raised one shaking hand to his head, shutting his eyes tightly against the pounding headache growing behind his eyes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, forcing his arms to quiver, his mind to be set on edge. He tried to think. Tried to calm himself. But the erratic trembling in his body continued.

When had this started? A minute or two ago? No. No an hour maybe, but something forced his mind far away from his body during that time. Only now could he feel what was happening to him. How did this start? Think damn it! He'd done nothing but wander aimlessly through the streets since he got here. He'd passed the school, a church, a couple streets worth of houses. No humans even, just a squirrel, maybe a bird or two, and a cat outside a huge mansion. The cat was acting funny, he recalled, the only thing out of place, with something hazy and ectoplasmic seeping off its back.

The ghost collapsed against the house, his body numb and shaking, his thoughts reeling. What was wrong with him? What was happening? He wanted to cry out, to call for help, but his mouth didn't seem to work. He was in the human world. No one would help him anyway.

Coherent thoughts slipped from his grasp; words darted through his mind, their meaning steadily dissolving away. In minutes they were gone. The thoughts were gone. Everything coursing through his head was gone. It was nice.

Both eyes shot open at the sound of something approaching. They scanned the street, acting on their own, until they settled on the sight of a red rubber ball bouncing across the street. A tiny boy, waddling through several layers of winter gear, struggled to keep up with the toy. He stopped halfway across the street, bending at the waste to grab the ball. The ghost's eyes watched with keen interest, a feral spark building in their gaze. The adrenaline coursed faster, and no thought came to stop the action building in his tense body. No thought at all, as the growling rose in his throat.

The boy picked his head up, curious eyes surveying the street. His ears, tucked lovingly beneath a hand knitted hat, picked up on the growing rumble. His two eyes glanced up and down the street again, set above cheeks bitten red by the wind. He still found nothing, and hugged the ball tighter to his chest.

The boy. The ball. Don't think. Just _do._

The street echoed with a resounding pop, the rubber ball punctured straight through as the ghost dove, claws extended, fast as a bullet, through the rubber. The boy was spared just enough time to glance down at his chest, taking in the punctured ball and the ballooning stain of red leaking through his thick winter coat, before a seizing cough racked his body, spurts of blood dripping from his mouth. He fell to his knees, eyes wide and pained, and collapsed onto his side. A few more weak coughs ripped across his body before his shredded heart gave out, his body limp, eyes open and glossy, heart and lungs still.

The ghost looked on for a few curious moments, its tail flicking back and forth with a nervous tick. No. Not good enough. The pulsing power still rankled through his body. Boy. Ball. Kill. More. And it took off, body driving itself, down to the end of the neighborhood's street.

A minute or two of silence passed before sirens shattered the chill winter air. Ambulances and police cars rounded on the dead boy. Hysterical parents and traumatized neighbors watched from a safe distance as the police gathered whatever evidence they needed before they could move the lifeless body. Among all the commotion, almost lost in the background, a pair of electric green eyes stared on, horrified. Phantom, his ghost sense triggering just seconds too late, watched from a distance, his mouth open, eye wide, body trembling, rooted to the spot. His heart seemed to rip apart inside him. A murder. A murder.

And he hadn't stopped it.


End file.
